(Source : The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri)
When Gogol's mother confessed that she was nervous to be in the house alone, Maxine told her she'd be nervous, too. She mentioned a break-in at her parents' once when she was by herself. When she told them that she lived with her parents, Ashima said, "Really ? I thought no one did that in America." When she told them she was born and raised in Manhattan, his father shook his head. "New York is too much," he said, "too many cars, too many tall buildings." He told the story of the time they'd driven in for Gogol's graduation from Columbia, the trunk of the car broken into in just five minutes, their suitcases stolen, having to attend the commencement without a jacket and tie.
"It's a pity you can't stay for dinner," his mother said as the meal came to an end.
But his father urged them to get going. "Better not to drive in the dark," he said
Afterward there was tea, and bowls of payesh made in honor of his birthday. He received a Hallmark card signed by both of his parents, a check for one hundred dollars, a navy blue cotton sweater from Filene's.
"He'll need that where we're going," Maxine said approvingly. "The temperature can really drop at night."
In the driveway there were hugs and kisses good-bye, initiated by Maxine, his parents reciprocating clumsily. His mother invited Maxine to please come again. He was given a piece of paper with his father's new phone number in Ohio, and the date on which it would be activated.
"Have a good trip to Cleveland," he told his father. "Good luck with the project.
"Okay," his father said. He patted Gogol on the shoulder. "I'll miss you," he said. In Bengali he added, "Remember to check in on your mother now and again."
"Don't worry, Baba. See you at thanksgiving."
"Yes, see you," his father said. And then : "Drive safely, Gogol."
At first he was unaware of the slip. But as soon as they were in the car, buckling their seat belts, Maxine said, "What did your dad just call you ?"
He shook his head. "It's nothing. I'll explain it later." He turned on the ignition and began to back out of the driveway, away from his parents, who stood there, waving, until the last possible moment. "Call to let us know you've arrived there safely," his mother said to Gogol in Bengali. But he waved and drove off, pretending not to hear.
It was a relief to be back in her world, heading north across the state border. For a while it was nothing different, the same expanse of sky, the same strip of highway, large liquor stores and fast-food chains on either side. Maxine knew the way, so there was no need to consult a map. He had been to New Hampshire once or twice with his family, to see the leaves, driving for the day to places one could pull off the road and take pictures of and admire the view. But he'd never been to so far north. They passed farms, spotted cows gazing in fields, red silos, white wooden churches, barns with rusted tin roofs. Small, scattered towns. The names of the towns meant nothing to him. They left the highway behind and drove on steep, slender, two-lane ribbons of road, the mountains appearing like enormous milky waves suspended against the sky. Wisps of cloud hung low over the summits, like smoke rising from the trees. He'd no idea where he was, or how far they'd traveled. Maxine told him they were not far from Canada, that if they're motivated they could drive into Montreal for the day.
They turned down a long dirt road in the middle of a forest, dense with hemlock and birch. They came to a partial clearing, to a humble house covered with bleached brown shingles and surrounded by a low wall of flat stones. Gerald and Lydia's Volvo was parked on the grass because there was no driveway. Gogol and Maxine stepped out, and he was led by the hand to the back of the house, his limbs stiff from hours in the car.. Though the sun was beginning to set, its warmth was still palatable, the air lazy and mild. As they approached he saw that after a certain expanse the yard fell away, and then he saw the lake, a blue a thousand times deeper, more brilliant than the sky and girded by pines, mountains behind them.
"We're here," Maxine called out, waving, her arms in a V. They walked toward her parents, who were sitting on Adirondack chairs on the grass, their legs and feet bare, drinking cocktails and admiring the view. Silos came bounding toward them, barking across the lawn. Gerald and Lydia were tanner, leaner, a bit scantly dressed, Lydia in a white tank top and a denim wrap shirt, Gerald in wrinkled blue shorts, a green polo shirt faded with use. Lydia's arms were nearly as dark as his own. Gerald had burned. Discarded books lied at their feet,face-down on the grass. They turned their heads in greeting, shielding their eyes from the sun's glare. "Welcome to paradise," Gerald said.
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